THINGS FALL APART




                       Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold
                        Patio over the playground, me pot’s too bold
                        Spine’s pinchin, body shrinkin, bloody depressed
                        Wouldn’t youse know it, i’m growin breasts

                        Me arse’s fallen, bladder cannot hold
                        Barbers trim me ear-fuzz, i’m baby-bottom bald
                        Yeah, admit to the odd dribbles . . . er in continents
                        An a bugger of arthuritis in flaming joints

                        Look ere, the old ticker’s a bit dicey
                        No petrol in the tank . . . catheter snapped in
                        Phallopasty to fatten up’d be a fallacy, eh?
                        Prostrate or prostate?  Just waitin to appen

                        But me pins’ve clocked up an undred thousand ks
                        Eight laps of the planet on dicky knees

                                                                                Michael Small
                        January 1-6, 2004

                        pub. The Mozzie, vol.12, issue 6, July, 2004

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